


Pulled my trigger, now he's dead

by Kirito_Potter



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Death, M/M, Rated For Violence, Swordfighting, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Violence, You Have Been Warned, this one is very very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirito_Potter/pseuds/Kirito_Potter
Summary: “Good,” Snow gasped. “I don’t want to win!”The Mage laughed in his face, looking slightly deranged. (More than slightly, really.) “Don’t be ridiculous, Simon! Everyone wants to win.”Snow swallowed. “I don’t. And I never have. That’s what you don’t understand, sir. I didn’t want to win, I wanted to live. And I wanted everyone else to.” His voice trembled. “Isn’t that enough?”





	Pulled my trigger, now he's dead

**Author's Note:**

> I thrive on your tears.

**Baz**

I always told myself I would die kissing Simon Snow.

When I raised Bunce and I into the white chapel, I was convinced it would happen there and then. Snow was standing across from the Mage, and he had those wings again, plus the devil's tail. He was holding the Sword of Mages. He was also wearing a rather posh suit that fit him perfectly, like it had been tailored just for him. He was beautiful. The Mage, not so much. He was dressed in that horrid green cloak, and he was glaring Snow down.

“Give it to me!” He shouted. What he wanted, I wasn't sure.

“I can't!” Snow replied. “It's gone, it's all gone!”

“There's an easy way to do this,” the Mage hissed. “Just give it to me.”

Simon shook his head.

The Mage reached down to his hip and revealed a sheath on his belt, sneering. He gripped the hilt poking out and swiftly pulled out a saber, brandishing it proudly. It was absolutely garish, covered in inscriptions and bedecked in colourful gems, to the point where it was nearly distracting to look at. He grinned like he’d already won-- as if looking pretty was the same as being strong. As if this horrid sword would be anywhere near powerful enough to fend off Snow’s blade by appearance alone.

Snow gritted his teeth, shifting his grip on the Sword of Mages. Something in his expression shifted too. “I don’t want to fight you,” he growled, but it sounded more like he was pleading with himself than with his mentor. “I already told you, there’s nothing else. It’s gone.”

The Mage shook his head. “That’s not true, Simon. You can trust me.” Well, I would certainly trust him if he were threatening me with a sword. “Just give it to me, the way you gave it to him--” he pointed the sword in my direction-- “and all of this will be over.”

“It’s gone,” Snow repeated, eyebrows furrowed in that endearing way they did when I antagonized him. “And so is the Humdrum. It’s already over, there’s nothing to end, sir.”

No matter what he said, the Mage couldn’t be reasoned with. He was too far gone now, eyes dull and cold where Snow’s shone with light. He brought the saber close to his body, spreading his feet in a stance I’d seen Snow take so many times. He must have learnt it from this monster, then.

Snow set his jaw, readying his own blade.

Maybe I should have done something. Maybe Bunce should have done something. Magic knows she was too out of it to cast a proper spell, what with the energy she’d already used up and the flashing light filling the room that was incapacitating her. But  _ I _ could have done something, anything. Sure, I’d just cast  **On love’s light wings** , which was a difficult spell, but if I had cast something as simple as a  **Back up!** or even  **Your attention please!** I could have prevented it. But I was frozen in place, just staring.

The Mage moved first, lunging forward with that damned saber. Snow deflected it easily, because of course he did, because it was one of the only things he ever seemed capable of. The Mage tried again, and Snow blocked it and pushed him back in one motion. As their blades clashed, I realized belatedly that every hit was a result of the Mage’s actions: it was always the Mage attacking and Snow defending, never Snow’s sword trying to get a hit in.

“Simon,” he snarled. “Just stop! You’ll never--” he thrusted forward, and Snow raised his sword to block it with blinding speed-- “win this!”

“Good,” Snow gasped. “I don’t want to win!”

The Mage laughed in his face, looking slightly deranged. (More than slightly, really.) “Don’t be ridiculous, Simon! Everyone wants to win.”

Snow swallowed. “I don’t. And I never have. That’s what you don’t understand, sir. I didn’t want to win, I wanted to  _ live _ . And I wanted everyone else to.” His voice trembled. “Isn’t that enough?”

Simon looked up to meet the Mage’s eyes, tears threatening to spill. The Mage paused, meeting his eyes and smiling quietly.

And then he stabbed Simon in the stomach.

Simon made an awful gurgling noise, eyes wide and wet, and the Sword of Mages clattered to the ground.

I was overwhelmed. There was so much happening, even though nothing was happening-- nothing in the room was moving. Simon was just standing there, disbelieving. Bunce was equally horrified, judging by the expression on her face. The Mage hadn’t moved, either, neither pulling the blade from Simon’s gut nor pushing it further. I couldn’t tell if he was suddenly feeling regret at hurting Simon or if he was shocked he’d actually managed it. And me…

I’d like to say something romantic, about how I was stunned into silence, shaking with fear for my one true love, wanting nothing more than to trade places, to turn back time and take the hit myself.

The truth is, all I could focus on was the blood that was rapidly spreading across his shirt, and the way its scent was spreading just as quickly through the air. I’d always been tempted by the thought of drinking from him, but I’d never smelled this much this close. My mouth was watering at the question of whether it would taste as good as it smelled. It took every ounce of willpower not to leap forward and test it.

After several seconds, Simon broke the tableau, knees giving out. He toppled forward, his face falling into his mentor’s shoulder. If not for the sword between them, it would have looked as though he were being comforted.

“Oh, Simon,” the Mage tutted softly. “I didn’t want to do this. I offered you an easy way out.” He sighed, patting Simon on the back with his free hand. “I’m only sorry I wasted so much time. If I’d known it was this easy…” He smiled wistfully. “Can you imagine, Simon? You and your old man, playing football in the backyard? Tiny Simon Salisbury, pitter-pattering around our cozy little home.”

Simon’s hand trembled at his side. I wasn’t sure if he’d understood exactly what the wanker was trying to say, but he could tell this wasn’t right. I didn’t even have time to ponder over  _ Simon Salisbury _ .

The Mage ducked his head, resting his cheek on Simon’s sweat-soaked curls. He started to sing under his breath. “ **Mama, just killed a man.** **  
** **Put a gun against his head...** ”

Simon didn't move to push him away or stop him. He just stood there, shaking.

Eventually, the Mage lifted his head, looking confused. “It's not working. Are you blocking me somehow?”

“I told you,” Simon croaked out, voice muffled by his father's cloak. “There's nothing left to take. It's gone.”

Something came over his expression. “You little twat. You're so ungrateful.”

He pulled the sword out, gleaming red now, and shoved Simon off him. Simon didn't even have the energy to cry out as he hit the ground. The Mage kicked him in the side, and he rolled over, clutching at his shirt. He coughed up blood onto the floor. Bunce dry heaved beside me.

“After everything I've done for you, you can't even let me have this?”

The Mage used his foot to turn Simon onto his back.

“Please, sir,” Simon breathed.

He raised his steel-toed boot over Simon's chest, and the world seemed to slow. The bastard wasn't even going to give him a quick death-- he'd break his ribs, probably puncturing his lungs. Simon would be in so much pain.

My wand hand flew through the air. “ **Up, up and away!** ”

I couldn't bring myself to look at the bloody lumps on the floor, so I held eye contact with him as long as I could, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell. I didn't wait for him to hit the floor.

“Simon!” I cried out, kneeling beside him.

Blood. So much blood.

“ **Get well soon!** ” I tried. “ **Sana, sana, colita de rana!** ” He just laid there, choking out painful-looking breaths. I glanced over my shoulder, but Bunce was still retching. I turned back to him, making a decision. “I'm going to help you,” I whispered. “You might not forgive me. Merlin, I might not forgive me. But I need to do this.”

“Wha--”

I bit into his jugular.

He was screaming and writhing, grabbing my shirt, but even now he couldn't sit up. I fought not to drink from him, just to let the venom travel. My hands were shaking, knuckles even whiter than usual from my grip on his shoulders. After a moment, I realized the screaming wasn't just screaming. He was saying something, pleading desperately, but I couldn't understand him, either because he was in too much pain to speak properly or because I was so concentrated on trying not to drain him.

Drain him…

Drain him?

I was supposed to be doing something, wasn't I? Yes. Yes, I was draining him.

“Baz! Get off of him!”

I sat up, wide-eyed, startled back into the real world by Bunce's cry.

“Baz,” Simon choked out.

“No,” I murmured. “No, I-- the venom-- it's spreading. It is.” It had to be.

“Baz…”

I kissed him. He didn't kiss back, just laid there. I kept waiting for him to do that nice thing with his chin, or to grab my shoulder, or lace his fingers through my hair. He just laid there.

I pulled back, and was distracted when I saw his lips drenched in his own blood. Then I looked up and met his eyes. They were the same beautifully ordinary blue, staring up at me, glassy and unblinking.

“Simon?”

I always told myself I would die kissing Simon Snow.

I never knew that Simon Snow would die kissing me.


End file.
